Game of thrones: The Lustful sellsword

The gift had done exactly what I intended.

Sansa Stark was curious.

I had observed her closely since that morning, and her behavior had shifted.

✔ She wore the Starfall hairpin in her hair every day.

✔ She glanced around more often, as if searching for someone unseen.

✔ She listened more closely to conversations among the guards, servants, and noblemen, looking for the one who had left the gift.

And most importantly?

She was beginning to think about me.

Even if she didn't yet know it.

A Questioning Gaze

The morning after receiving the gift, Sansa stood near the training yard, watching the men spar.

Something she had never done before.

She stood tall and elegant, her hands clasped before her, pretending not to be paying attention.

But her eyes?

They scanned the gathered men—watching, searching.

I continued my drills, never meeting her gaze directly.

I let her watch me.

I let her wonder.

When Robb called me forward for a practice bout, I took my time removing my cloak and rolling my shoulders, displaying my physique just enough to capture her attention.

I moved with precision, grace, and control.

Not brute force, not reckless abandon—but the fluidity of a man who knew his own power.

And I felt her eyes on me.

Watching.

Wondering.

A Carefully Placed Hint

She would never find her answer through whispers and gossip alone.

So, I gave her a clue.

That evening, when the Stark family gathered in the hall, I made sure to pass near her table.

I let my fingers trail subtly across the back of a chair, where she had set her book.

It was enough for her to notice, enough for her to glance up—just as I turned away, disappearing back into the shadows.

Her eyes lingered on me just a little longer than usual.

The game had begun.

A Meeting Under the Stars

That night, I positioned myself in the godswood, beneath the old weirwood tree.

It wasn't chance.

It was calculated.

I knew Sansa often walked there at dusk, seeking solitude to dream of knights, love, and the world beyond Winterfell.

And as expected—she came.

Draped in a pale blue cloak, the silver hairpin gleaming under the moonlight.

She hadn't noticed me yet.

Not until she was mere steps away.

Then, her breath caught.

I was seated on a low stone wall, casually sharpening my dagger, the firelight from a nearby lantern flickering over my face.

I glanced up as if surprised to see her.

"Lady Sansa."

She hesitated, eyes flickering with something between caution and curiosity.

I stood, slipping my dagger back into its sheath before inclining my head.

"You seem troubled," I said smoothly. "Is something on your mind?"

She hesitated for a moment longer.

Then, carefully, she spoke.

"A gift was left for me."

I let a flicker of curiosity cross my face, as if I didn't already know.

"A gift?" I repeated. "Something troubling?"

She exhaled softly, shaking her head. "No. It was... thoughtful."

I watched her closely, seeing the way she clutched her cloak tighter, as if protecting something delicate.

Her eyes searched mine, looking for something—an answer, a clue.

"Was it you?" she asked finally.

I didn't answer right away.

I let the moment stretch, let her feel the weight of the question.

Then, I took a single step closer.

"If it was," I murmured, my voice low, "would it trouble you?"

Her breath hitched.

She was too well-bred, too proper to answer immediately.

But her hesitation wasn't rejection.

It was fascination.

"No," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

I smiled then, tilting my head slightly. "Then perhaps, my lady, some dreams do come true after all."

The color in her cheeks deepened.

She was drawn in—not completely, not yet.

But the seed had been planted.

She would think of me now. Not just in passing. Not just as a stranger.

But as a man she did not yet understand.

And that mystery? That intrigue?

Would drive her mad.

A Lingering Thought

Before she could speak again, I stepped back.

I let my exit be smooth, effortless, like a shadow slipping away.

Let her wonder why I left so soon.

Let her imagine the answers.

As I walked away, I didn't need to look back to know she was still standing there, staring after me.

Thinking.

Wondering.

And, perhaps, just beginning to want.